


Pearl Buttons

by AnnaFan



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventually resolved sexual tension (several decades' worth), F/M, First Time, Just kidding - like she would!, Lie back and think of Gondor, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:50:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6001558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaFan/pseuds/AnnaFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The action opens in Edoras, two days before Éowyn and Faramir's wedding, with Éomer making a rather unexpected discovery.  Our blushing bride and groom to be are left somewhat ill at ease, but fortunately Elfhelm and his wife are on hand to cheer them up.  (Which makes it sound far kinkier than it is, mwa ha ha!)</p><p>Wheelrider's Valentine's challenge: write a canonical wedding night.  Part of "How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways." http://archiveofourown.org/works/6001558/collections</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wheelrider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheelrider/gifts), [sian22 (pehrsson)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sian22+%28pehrsson%29).



"You're a WHAT?" In the attempt not to drop his tankard of ale, Éomer banged it abruptly onto the table. The end result was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid: beer sloshed across the wood and landed in his lap. 

Faramir dropped his gaze and seemed to become totally absorbed in the spreading pool of liquid. Out of the corner of his eye, Éomer saw that Éothain's mouth had fallen open. Only Elfhelm seemed relatively unaffected; the older man, as was his wont, appeared to be biding his own council.

“What? How? Are you sure?”

Faramir looked up, brushing his dark hair back from his face. A sudden flash of annoyance crossed his face, reminding Éomer of his expression as the two of them had sparred earlier. The way the man fought – with determination, single mindedness, and a kind of sharply focussed aggression – that had left Éomer with no doubts about his manliness. But now… Éomer's train of thought was cut off by Faramir's voice.

“Of course I'm sure. It's not exactly the sort of thing one is mistaken about in oneself.” His voice was filled with irritation.

“But… you're meant to be marrying my sister in three days time,” Éomer said, his voice almost faint with shock.

“I don't see why you should think it to be such a problem,” the Gondorian replied, still sounding distinctly testy.

“But… How will you know how to… well… To go on?”

“I am acquainted with the theory. How hard can it be?”

There was a thud from somewhere to Éomer's left as Éothain let his head fall onto the table. The captain of Éomer's Royal Guard gave a groan of disbelief. It crossed the young king's mind to join his captain in banging his head against the wooden boards – it might, after all, clear it, or possibly even reveal this whole conversation to be some sort of drunken flight of fancy. Instead he made do with asking, “But how… err… why? Why would you? Or rather, why would you not?”

“Well, it's not that uncommon in my country,” Faramir said, somewhat defensively.

Éothain looked up, and, it would seem, decided at long last to join the conversation. He'd had slightly more ale than the others, and his words came out rather slurred. “Bugger me. I'd heard some weird things about you Stoninglanders, but that's just… What, you mean, there's lots of you are… are...” His voice petered out. He couldn't bring himself to voice the word.

Faramir gave a snort of irritation. “Yes, there are quite a lot of us. Who choose to remain so until we marry. You can say the word you know. It's not catching… after all it's something of a one-way process, you can't go backwards.” He sat up, and seized the tankard in front of him, raised it to his lips, and drained it in one draught. He brought it back down onto the table with a clatter, and said, somewhat belligerently, “Yes, I am a virgin. So?”

~o~O~o~

Faramir stared dolefully at his breakfast. He could have sworn the breakfast (some sort of smoked fish) was staring back at him, equally dolefully. At least it had the excuse of being dead; Faramir merely felt close to death. His head ached as though it had a dwarven axe embedded in it. His throat felt as though he had spent the previous evening imbibing gravel rather than ale. His stomach contents threatened to make a bid for freedom at any moment (encouraged by the fish's uncompromising glare). But worst of all, his memory was, unfortunately, entirely unimpaired by the previous night's activities.

Éothain had undoubtedly contributed the greatest part of the recollections he wished he didn't have. After the captain's initial shock, he had decided to appoint himself responsible for Faramir's belated education. It wasn't long before Éomer (muttering "That's my bloody sister you're talking about") had to excuse himself to visit the latrine. Éothain was undaunted. He imparted a veritable treasure trove of knowledge surely sufficient to make a tart blush. Or a midwife. Or possibly both. It certainly made Faramir blush just to remember it.

Though the scholar within (in truth, never far from the surface) had to admit the man had been a mine of information, however crudely that information had been expressed. For instance, who would have guessed that the mere act of thrusting in and out would not be sufficient? That (apparently well hidden – though Éothain had given such detailed instructions that Faramir could only heave a sigh of relief that he'd stopped short of drawing a map), the key to a woman's pleasure lay not in her quim (Faramir's vocabulary had also been considerably expanded) but in a mysterious part Éothain variously described as “her button” and "her pearl". The captain of the guard had been in the midst of making various increasingly rude jokes about "pearls beyond price" when Éomer had returned and threatened to knock his block off if he didn't change the subject.

Not that the change of subject had been any improvement. Éomer had then cross-examined Faramir at great length to check whether he had at any time engaged in "the way of the warrior" and to ascertain whether Faramir's lack of experience with women was in fact due to a concomitant surfeit of experience with men. Faramir had kept his temper, but only just. He had had to remind himself at frequent intervals that Éowyn would kill him for brawling with her brother on the eve of their wedding, and that in the unlikely event that she didn't get to him first, Aragorn would kill him for causing a diplomatic incident by brawling with the king of their closest ally.

Suddenly, Faramir's attention was brought back to the present by a tall, rangy figure leaning over beside him and setting two bowls of steaming porridge on the table, before sitting down on the bench and swinging long legs over so that he came to rest beside the Gondorian.

“I thought kippers were probably more than you could handle after last night. This should go down nice and bland. Eat, man, then we'll go and get a bit of fresh air.” Elfhelm shoved one of the bowls in front of Faramir, deftly knocking the smoked fish to one side, where it continued to stare upwards with something of a reproachful air. The Marshal ate in silence as Faramir toyed with his spoon. Eventually the younger man could bear the silence no longer.

"I suppose you're going to offer me advice too, once you've told me how peculiar and possibly unmanly I am." Faramir sounded quite uncharacteristically grumpy. Elfhelm put it down to the hangover.

"I think you got quite enough advice from Éothain last night." At least that response elicited a wry smile. "Actually I'm sure the two of you will do just fine. After all, back in the day Hilde and I managed to work it out for ourselves – worked it out quite well – in fact...” Elfhelm's eyes misted over in fond recollection… “very well indeed."

Faramir's head snapped up in surprise. The sudden movement obviously wasn't a good idea, for he then gave a bit of a groan and let his head fall back into his hands.

"Of course we were only fifteen when we started walking out together, and I have to admit, despite the best efforts of our parents, we didn't wait for the wedding. Though I suppose they must take some of the blame, for they tried to make us wait three years. That was never going to happen! Mind you, they caught us in the end – I brought her home with blueberry stains all up the back of her dress." Elfhelm gave another fond smile at the reminiscence. "Béma, they gave us hell for that. But they brought the wedding forward too... Just as well."

Faramir actually managed to chuckle at this. Elfhelm took this as an invitation to continue.

"Though of course we were just teenagers. I can't help wondering, if you don't mind me asking, why a man of your age wouldn't..."

Faramir searched Elfhelm's face for any hint that the older man might be making fun of him, but saw only an open, friendly, if somewhat puzzled look.

"It's a religious thing," he said. Seeing Elfhelm's confused frown he added, "Surely you understand that – you Rohirrim seem to set great store by your gods."

"Well, yes, but that's giving thanks to them for bringing the harvest in, for protecting us in battle, for looking after our households. And in return they expect us to do the right rituals, and deal honestly with each other, and look after widows and orphans and those who've fallen on hard times. They don't expect a man to give up on shagging."

Faramir gave another grin at this. “Ah, maybe I chose the wrong set of gods. Not that the Valar are exactly gods... I mean, there's Eru, the One, and... But I don't suppose you're interested in theological niceties."

"Well only the ones that explain why you can't have a decent shag!" Elfhelm sounded amused, but it was a friendly amusement.

"Well, I (like much of the nobility of Gondor) am descended from the faithful of Numenor. And we honour our Elven heritage. And for elves, to join their bodies together is a holy act that joins their souls – their feä become one, and they are married for eternity. And this is what we seek for ourselves – to wait until we meet the one whose soul we choose to bind ourselves to.”

“That must take some self control,” said Elfhelm, dryly.

“Well,” Faramir said, with a rueful smile, “I suppose in truth not everyone does manage it. But it is certainly a state we aspire to. Though it is hard.” The smile broadened into a grin. “Still, only a day to go now...”

Elfhelm slapped him heartily between the shoulder blades. “It's reassuring to know you're keen, even if you are a late starter. Come on now, lad, let's go and get some fresh air.”

~o~O~o~

Éowyn sat on a bench in the small kitchen garden to the rear of the Golden Hall. She still felt unsettled after the previous night's conversation. The whole thing had seemed innocent at the time. She had known that, with two days to go until the wedding, her brother, Éothain, Elfhelm and the rest intended to take Faramir and get him royally drunk and make fun of him, as befitted a groom-to-be. So it had seemed like a suitably reciprocal arrangement when several of the ladies of the Gondorian court who had arrived as part of the wedding party had suggested that they should retire to the (unused) queen's solar, and have a celebration of their own.

She should have known it was not going to go well when the only Gondorian woman she had truly formed any rapport with, Faramir's cousin the Princess Lothíriel, said that she was not coming, as the gathering was limited to married ladies only, Éowyn aside. It was at this point, with a sinking feeling, that Éowyn had realised that the intended purpose of the gathering was educational rather than social.

And now she felt really quite miserable. She had had no fears about her marriage whatsoever, for she loved Faramir and knew that he loved her, and knew that her heart quickened and her pulse raced when they kissed each other – in fact, her pounding pulse made her look forward to her wedding night with considerable enthusiasm. But now it was as if a bucket of icy water had been emptied on that happy enthusiasm.

She plucked a daisy from beside the bench and started to shred its petals one by one in an absent minded sort of way. Then to her horror she heard voices.

“Oh yes, my lady, as straightforward a first birthing as one could hope for. Not as long as it might have been, and Friðegyd is doing well – a bit sore, but no tears or lasting hurt.” Éowyn recognised the voice of Dame Athelburga, the midwife who tended to most of the women of Edoras.

“And the bairn?” Oh heavens, that was the voice of Lady Hilde, Elfhelm's wife. One of the shrewdest women Éowyn knew, and not someone she wanted to talk to in her present mood.

“Oh, the bairn is fine – a good healthy size, came out pink and started screaming fit to burst almost straight away, found her way onto the tit in no time...” The voices were coming nearer. There was no escape. Sure enough, a moment later the two women rounded the corner, Hilde with her business-like stride, and Athelburga, who was somewhat plump, waddling along by her side.

“Lady Éowyn, how nice to see you out taking the air. Are all the preparations made for tomorrow?” Lady Hilde enquired.

“Yes, everything seems to be well set,” Éowyn replied. As she had feared, Hilde seemed to pick up on the slight hesitancy in her voice almost immediately.

“Why, my lady, you're sitting there with a face as long as a wet Monday. What ails you? Wedding nerves?” To Éowyn's horror, Hilde plonked herself onto the bench beside her. Athelburga, following her liege-lady's lead, sat down opposite them on the low stone wall that surrounded the raised herb bed.

“Oh it's nothing at all. I probably had a bit too much wine with the ladies of the Gondorian court last night, that's all.”

“Not as much as your groom, I'll wager,” Hilde responded. She eyed Éowyn with her customary shrewdness, then said, “So what did they talk to you about last night?”

“Oh, they wanted to help me prepare for my wedding night. Said that no bride-to-be should go into it not knowing what to expect.”

Athelburga snorted with amusement. “Ah, these strange folk from Stoningland. I've heard they bring their women folk up in ignorance of the ways of nature. But surely being from the Riddermark, you've seen enough livestock bred that none of it was going to come as a surprise to you.”

“Oh of course not,” said Éowyn, then added with a slightly sad air, “But seeing horses, or cattle, doesn't give you any idea of what it's going to feel like.”

Hilde's brows drew together, and she eyed Éowyn suspiciously, as if this latest comment had given her the clue to home in on the source of Éowyn's mysterious and sudden fit of trepidation. “And what, precisely, did they say about what it was going to feel like?”

“Well, you see, I've been so looking forward to my wedding night, but they said that he would have to force his way through my maidenhood, and that it would hurt like a dagger being stuck into me, and there would be blood, and...” Éowyn's voice trailed off.

“Stuff and nonsense! What were they thinking of, to scare you so?” said Athelburga, sounding outraged. “For a start off, girl, use your head. Your maidenhood isn't like a drum skin, stretched tight all the way across the opening. If it was, how would your moonflow ever come out? It's more like a little frill of webbing – and chances are with the amount of riding and running around you've done, there won't be much of it left, and it's unlikely there'll be any blood either. Particularly not if you've done a little bit of investigation yourself...” The midwife looked at Éowyn, who felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment. “You're four and twenty – please tell me you've at least investigated a little bit?”

Éowyn wanted the ground to swallow her up. She nodded mutely.

“Thank heavens for that. The poor man's not going to have a chance of bringing you pleasure if you don't know how to bring pleasure to yourself.”

“But will it hurt?” asked Éowyn.

“It might a bit – but that's not to do with any magical maidenhood, more to do with your muscles being tight and not used to relaxing – it'll get better quick enough. And the more time you spend kissing and letting him touch you beforehand, the easier it will be.”

“You do like him kissing you, don't you?” said Hilde. Éowyn felt as though she was being attacked on two fronts. It was a pincer movement worthy of Eorl the young on the battlefield of Celebrant.

“Yes, of course,” she replied.

“And I don't just mean finding it a bit pleasant,” said Hilde, fixing her with a gimlet eye. “Does it make your pulse race? Does it make you want to cling to him so tightly you almost feel like you'd like to become part of him, and him become part of you? Does it make you wet?”

Oh Béma, her cheeks must really be aflame now, Éowyn thought. Hilde was asking if kissing made her wet – she could only mean that curious wetness that gathered between her legs when she kissed him – or even more so, when she thought of his kisses while she touched herself secretly, tucked up in bed at night in the privacy of her own chamber. She didn't know what to say. This was really not the sort of thing she had ever wanted to discuss in public, certainly not with the wife of her brother's first ever commanding officer.

“I'll take the look on your face as a yes, then, my lady. Ignore the silly Gondorian women, fussing like a bunch of clucking hens. You'll be fine, and it'll all be every bit as lovely as you thought it was going to be before they got you all upset and bothered.” Hilde rose to her feet and brushed her skirts down. “Come inside with us, my lady, and we'll see if we can find your intended, and have a good laugh at his hangover.”


	2. Chapter 2

Faramir stared at his bride. Éowyn stood in the centre of the chamber, still wearing her bridal dress, its deep green silk skirt flowing in waves about her legs. She smiled at him and beckoned him closer. He needed no further urging – two long strides took him to her, and he wrapped his arms around her, bringing his lips down on hers. With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around his neck. He drew her closer still, running his hands across her back, one coming to rest in the small of her back, then the other… finally he allowed his hand to drift over her shapely buttocks, pulling her close against him. This time her breath against his ear sounded closer to a moan than a sigh as her body seemed to melt sinuously against his. As he stroked up and down the length of her spine, he realised that there were little beads sewn there, and finally it dawned on him that her dress was not laced closed, but fastened by dozens of tiny pearl buttons. He couldn't help himself; he gave a chuckle.

Éowyn lifted her head from where it had come to rest against his shoulder. “What's so funny?”

“Pearl buttons,” he whispered. “Lots of them.” For a moment he wondered about telling her of Éothain's instruction, then decided that now was not the moment.

“I suppose there are rather a lot of them. It took my maid ages to do them up.” She looked at him and gave a slow, languorous smile. “And I cannot reach them to undo them.”

Faramir claimed another kiss, slow and deep, then took her hand. “Come, then.” He led her to the bed, and sat her on the edge. “I am certain I will be able to undo the work your maid so carefully undertook.” Kneeling behind her, he swept her glorious golden hair to one side. Then, slowly, hands trembling, he undid the top button, revealing a fingers breadth of skin which had not been there before. He couldn't resist it; he leaned forward and pressed a kiss. Then, allowing his fingers to trail across the skin, he eased the next button from its fastening. Another kiss, this time rewarded with a sigh. Then another, and another, each one accompanied by a soft brush of lips, the huff of breath across her skin, skin which, the further he got, began to feel as though it burned beneath his touch. Slowly, steadily, the elegant line of her spine was revealed, the smooth skin over taut muscles beneath. He could hear her breath coming in gasps as he worked his way down, now reaching the small of her back, now parting the fabric to reveal two dimples above her buttocks, now revelling as the swell of her beautiful hips became visible, now, finally, the last of the buttons, and the hint of the cleft between her cheeks.

“Wait,” whispered Éowyn, breathless. She turned so that she half faced him. Then, smiling, she raised her hands to his shirt front and started to undo the laces, taking her turn to trail her fingers across his skin as it became exposed. Faramir stared into her grey-blue eyes which seemed intent on drinking in every inch of his body as she discovered it. Again she smiled, and let her fingers run across the patch of chest now visible, fingertips trailing through the dusting of dark hair.

“You have no idea how I have wondered what this would look like – I've caught the odd glimpse when your shirt has been undone when you've been sparring, and I've wanted to know how it would feel, how far across your chest the hair went.” Now it was her turn to lean forward and kiss his skin, lips brushing over his muscles. As she kissed him, she let her hands slide down to his waist, and slender, nimble fingers started to work his shirt from the waistband of his breeches.

“May I?” Her voice was unsteady – Faramir found he had lost his entirely, and could only nod in mute supplication. Slowly she raised the hem of the shirt, drawing it up and over his head, letting it fall to the floor beside the bed. She gazed at him. The stolen glimpses of dark hair that had so tantalised her could now be seen to spread across his chest, but no further, apart from a strip which ran from his navel tantalisingly downwards. She followed it, and stared for a moment, realising that his breeches were already tight across an unmistakable mound. Without even thinking, she let her tongue run across her lips – Faramir watched, enraptured, as the pink tip flickered for a moment. Then she looked up again, and let her fingers roam across his skin, tracing from one shoulder to the other, then down across his chest. Faramir gave a hiss of desire and let his head drop back as her fingers skimmed his nipple. Éowyn gave another enigmatic smile, and deliberately circled the pink peaked skin.

“Oh my love, my beautiful love,” Faramir said.

She met his gaze, and replied, “I never realised how beautiful you would be. I could gaze upon you for an eternity...”

“Not just gaze, I hope,” Faramir responded, quirking an eyebrow.

“Oh no, touch too,” and her fingers drifted lower, over the hard ridges of muscle on his belly.

“But I have yet to see you,” he whispered, placing his palms on her shoulders, cupping the thin silk of her dress. “May I?”

“Oh yes, yes, please...”

With a firm movement of his hands, he slid the loose material down over her arms, swallowing hard as the soft, silken expanse of her breasts was revealed, feeling a jolt of fire in his groin as the fabric paused for a tantalising moment then slipped to reveal the rosy pink tips of her breasts. He couldn't stop himself – acting on instinct, he dipped his head and took one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. 

“Oh gods.” Éowyn's voice was ragged. She wound one hand through his hair, pulling his head closer, and clutched at his shoulder with the other, gripping so tightly it almost hurt. Faramir pushed her gently back onto the bed. She pulled him after her, so that he landed almost on top of her, pausing long enough to draw in a shuddering breath then shift his head to suckle on the other nipple. He could feel her hands slide down to his waist, run round to the front of his breeches, start to work on the laces. In answer, he started to slide her dress over her hips. She shifted to help him, wriggling as the folds of material slid away. Rising onto his knees, he managed to draw it over her legs finally, leaving her naked on the bed.

“Sainted Valar,” he managed to murmur, staring down at her. Despite Gondor's reputation for prudishness, images of naked women were there if one knew where to look. Just about any scene could be rendered acceptable provided it came with the assurance that it was art. Thus, he had seen statues of naked women swathed only in flimsy gauzy fragments of fabric. He had seen paintings of naked women, tied to trees or pillars by evil princes, being rescued by daring knights in armour. He had even (as a teenager, on trips exploring the locked regions of the palace, egged on by Boromir) seen the pottery collection of Alcarin the decadent. All these visions had haunted his dreams as a teenager (and beyond, if he was truthful). But nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. 

For a moment, he shut his eyes, swallowing hard.

“Faramir?” Éowyn sounded uncertain. “Are you all right?”

He just about managed to speak, sounding as though someone had just tried to strangle him. “You are so… so beautiful. And I am frightened...”

“Frightened?” Éowyn sounded worried now. Hastily, he tried to reassure her.

“Not in a bad way. In an embarrassed way. Frightened I might spend myself on the spot without even having touched you.”

He heard a giggle, and cautiously opened his eyes, trying to confine himself to looking at her face. He failed.

Everything about her was utterly captivating – her face, flushed with desire, her eyes, huge and filled with need, the swell of her breasts, the peaked, dark pink nipples, the curve of her belly, the triangle of golden curls… He was so taken with her, he'd almost forgotten her fingers working urgently at his laces, but suddenly he realised she had his breeches half way down his thighs, small clothes pulled down along with them. 

“Oh gods, this is… just so right – and the skin is so soft… I never guessed it would feel so soft. And yet beneath it, you're so hard...”

He watched as her tongue flickered across her lower lip, and then her hand wrapped around his cock. _Oh Tulkas, oh Uinen!_ With a gulp, he tried to list all of the minor Maiar in alphabetical order in Quenya… Once again, the strategy did not really work.

_Valar!_ The feeling of her fingers, soft but firm, stroking the firm length. Her hand seemed to be steered by the same invisible force which led his hand… led it up the soft, smooth skin of her thigh and urged it to run through the golden curls, fingers teasing apart the folds of skin until… Yes, there was indeed a sweet spot, swollen like a ripe berry, and when he touched it, her hips bucked beneath his hand. He let his fingers stray between her legs, dipping them into the slick moisture that pooled there, marvelling at how it felt, then running his fingers back to that spot… And again her hips moved, and a ragged groan escaped her lips. Lying down beside her, he let his fingers start to explore in firm, purposeful circles, watching her face. For a moment when her hand first wrapped round him, he'd thought he would lose himself there and then, but now, transported by what he was doing, she had stopped her strokes, seeming to have forgotten her hand was even there, so rapt was she by the touch of his fingers. He leaned over her and kissed her parted lips, stroking his tongue against hers in time with the strokes of his fingers against the moist lips below.

Then suddenly he felt her hand move against him once more, and he gave an involuntary groan of pleasure, quickly followed by the realisation that this time, this time… 

“Oh Valar, I'm not sure how long I can hold on.”

Éowyn kissed him, then whispered, “It's all right… I think I'm ready… I want you.”

He rolled on top of her, and gazed down at her face. Her eyes looked huge in the candlelight, her cheeks flushed – he realised with desire rather than any shyness. Then to his surprise, he realised she had slid her hands down over his arse and was pulling him in closer. He bent his head and returned the kiss, pressing his cock against her… and then found it bumping almost painfully against her mons.

Éowyn gave a chuckle. “Wrong place.”

“I thought this was meant to come naturally,” Faramir said, a note of chagrin in his voice. Twisting his wrist somewhat uncomfortably, he slipped his hand between them the better to explore the unknown territory. He started with the part he had already explored, the firm little nub which had brought sighs of pleasure from her. To his relief, despite the interruption, he found he could still produce the same reaction. And the sharp jab of pain seemed at least to have removed the immediate danger of him coming on the spot. 

With focussed concentration, he slipped his fingers further between her legs. But this time, instead of stroking at the silken, damp folds, he slipped first one, then two fingers inside. Éowyn's body moved sinuously beneath him, her breath huffing against his ear as she gave another sigh.

“Ah,” said Faramir, with the air of one solving one of life's great mysteries. “It doesn't go straight up… it sort of goes up and back, if you see what I mean...”

The sighing stopped. He lifted his head to look at her again. Her face held a curious mixture of irritation, impatience and fondness. In her typically blunt fashion, she said, “Faramir, my love… This is the point where you're supposed to stick your pintel in me, not deliver a lecture on geography.” She must have sensed a slight loss of his earlier confidence, for she reached up and stroked his cheek. “It is one of the things I love about you – your insatiable curiosity. But please...” She kissed him, slipping her tongue between his lips and sliding it against his own, languidly, sensuously... “Please, I need you… now.”

This time using his fingers to guide him to the right place, he pressed against her once more. And then, miraculously, incredibly, felt the hot, wet, enveloping softness as he slipped within her. Oh Elbereth, oh Nienna, oh Tulkas… this was the most wonderful feeling he had ever experienced.

“Oh!” Éowyn's gasp was definitely one of surprise (and possibly discomfort) rather than enjoyment.

Faramir paused mid stroke and looked at Éowyn again, a slight frown of worry on his face. “Does it hurt?”

“More a bit uncomfortable and strange.” She looked up at him, and said, “But at the same time I do want more of it.” Then, as if trying to make herself more at ease, she shifted her hips beneath him, tilting them slightly. “Oh, that works a bit better...” Her hands drifted down to his arse again, tugging him deeper inside. Faramir started to move again. Beneath him, Éowyn tried to move in concert with him, but somehow they couldn't get the timing quite right. It felt… wonderful… but at the same time awkward, clumsy almost. Clumsy or not, something seemed to be working – to start with, Faramir was not so lost that he couldn't notice Éowyn's breath starting to come in ragged gasps. But then, quite suddenly, Faramir felt an irresistible, surging flood of need. Desperately, he tried to slow his thrusts, tried to hold on… and lost. His seed spurted out in a rush as with a groan, he sank in trembling need deep within her.

With a feeling of mingled bliss and disappointment, he buried his face in her glorious golden hair, and shut his eyes. She wrapped her arms round his back and held him tight as he softened within her, then slipped out, his cock flopping stickily against the inside of her thigh.

“Oh Valar, I'm sorry… I tried to last as long as I could.”

Éowyn stroked his hair. “You were fine…” She assessed his face, as if trying to decide what his reaction would be. “You lasted much longer than I was expecting. Hilde told me to expect about three thrusts and it would all be over...” The hint of a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

Faramir looked at her, stunned at this information. Then slowly, an answering smile lit his face. “Hilde has less faith in me than her husband… Elfhelm told me I'd be lucky if I lasted four. Or perhaps… Elfhelm has re-written history to his own advantage.” He gave a cheeky grin, and then stroked her cheek. “I'm sorry, my love. I get the feeling it was uncomfortable for you.” 

“No – only at the very start – once I got used to it, it was… nice… and very promising for next time. And Hilde did tell me that even if it didn't actually hurt first time, it took a bit of getting used and it took practice to really start enjoying it. But that it just gets better and better.” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a slightly saucy look. “I suppose I can hope that there will be a next time?”

“Sweet Uinen, yes,” came the heartfelt reply. “Many, many more next times. As many as you want.” Then he looked at her again. He gave a slightly rueful grin. “So the whole of Edoras knows that I am a virgin?”

This time Éowyn threw back her head and laughed heartily. “Knows that you were one, don't you mean? I think they know full well that I intended to have my wicked way with you tonight.” She ran her hand down his spine, then said, “You're rather heavy, you know. How about you take a turn at being the mattress?”

Faramir chuckled and rolled onto his back, pulling Éowyn with him. She came to rest with her head on his chest, tracing out circles across his skin, swirling the hair gently. “I know I've said it before, but I really do like this – the hair on your chest, I mean. It's somehow comforting and… I'm not sure what words to use, the feelings are all so new… it's exciting. Comforting and arousing. All at once. If that makes any sense. And I never guessed how nice it would feel, to lie here, with all your warm skin against my skin, touching the whole length of my body.” Faramir sighed, and wrapped his arms around her, then covered her hair in a flurry of kisses. For a few moments they lay in contented silence. Then Faramir seemed to remember something she had said, and broke the silence.

“So you feel it was you who had your wicked way with me?” he asked, his chest vibrating with laughter. “Is it not usually thought to be the other way round? Perhaps we should agree that it was a draw, and that we have both suitably relieved the other of the burden of their virginity.”

“Burden?” asked Éowyn.

“Well, certainly from my side of things, given how wonderful that was, a state to be cast aside joyously.” Suddenly he pulled her tight against him and kissed her. “I want to make it as joyous for you.”

Éowyn gave him a dazzling smile. “You will, and soon, I am sure.” She looked at him and noted the way his brow knitted, the way it always did when he was thinking.

“I wonder what it is meant to be like for a woman… I mean, with men, there is an obvious end to it all, and I although I have never lain with a woman before, obviously I have had dreams, and I've.. with my hand… I mean...” Faramir stopped, looking rather embarrassed. “But I'm sure you don't want to know...”

Éowyn giggled. “I used to eavesdrop on my brother and his friends when he was a youth, and I was intensely curious about what boys got up to. I've heard them talking. They used to tease one another about wanking. Then when they got older, about wenching.”

She watched, amused, as he actually blushed. She decided that this was a new, and delightful, side of him, and wondered how much more flustered she could get him. With another giggle, she decided to say what was on her mind. “You asked what it is meant to be like for a woman, and obviously I have never lain with a man before tonight, but… Women, sometimes, when they're alone...” Faramir's eyes widened. 

Eowyn almost laughed at the look on Faramir's face: the most pure, unadulterated lust she had ever seen, coupled with a deep blush of embarrassment. When he managed to speak, his voice came out sounding very hoarse. “Women, when they're alone?”

Éowyn grinned, and ran her fingers over his chest once more, letting them linger on his nipple, stroking experimentally and realising with delight that it hardened like a tiny bud, in an echo of the way hers did when he touched them. Her delight only increased when he gave a soft moan in response to her caress. Then she wriggled up his chest until her lips brushed his ear and whispered in it. “I have touched myself, and yes, like you, I get more and more excited, and then… there is a definite end to it all...”

“Oh,” was all Faramir managed to say.

“Oh dear, I have shocked you,” said Éowyn, but her wicked grin showed that she was not in the slightest bit remorseful.

“Not shocked,” said Faramir, and she suddenly realised that his embarrassment of a few moments earlier had been replaced by a grin every bit as wicked as her own. With a sense of glee, she felt his cock stirring against her once more. “Intrigued me. Surprised me.” He paused, then pressed his mouth slowly and softly against hers, tugging and nipping gently at her lips before caressing them gently with his tongue. Then he whispered, sounding breathless, “And aroused me. Definitely aroused me.” His hips pushed up against her, and she felt his hands slide down her spine and come to rest cupping her buttocks.

He murmured his next words into her hair. “And when you touched yourself, did you think of me? Did you imagine it was my fingers?”

“Yes… And you?”

“Always… So many times, imagining your hand around me, wondering what it would be like to be with you...”

She spread her legs until she straddled him, then began to circle her hips, rubbing herself against his renewed hardness. In response, he started to kiss her, making gentle darting sallies into her mouth with his tongue, sallies which seemed to echo the way he moved his hips and pressed against her. And all the time, his hands stroked her – her spine, her shoulders, her buttocks. She felt herself floating away on a current of desire, which rose, and swirled, and spiralled, and carried her mind beyond conscious thought. 

But the current seemed to hit a sudden unexpected reef as he tried to slide within her for a second time.

“Dammit, it's still hard to get the angle right.”

“Oh, for heaven's sakes, first it was geography, now it's geometry...” Éowyn's flash of exasperation was interrupted as Faramir pressed another kiss to her lips, then pulled his head back to give her a look filled with the most naked desire she could imagine.

“Trust me...” he whispered, then started to snake his way up the bed, carrying her along with him. Éowyn felt a thrill of excitement at the discovery of how easily he lifted her – she knew that his wiry body hid a deceptive strength, but there was something quite wonderful about being taken in his strong grip. He came to rest, half sitting, half reclining, against the pillows at the head of the bed, Éowyn now straddling his lap. Looking her in the eye, with a slow, sensuous deliberation, he slid his hands round her hips and lifted her up until she found herself half kneeling, half suspended in his powerful grasp, poised just over his straining cock. “You see, geometry has practical applications. And I am a very keen student,” he said, with a wicked grin. Éowyn couldn't help but grin back. Placing her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, she let herself settle down gradually, sliding down onto him. This time, there was no discomfort, only a hot, wet need, a growing desire. As she slid down his length, he thrust up against her, and she revelled in the new sensations, feeling his cock stretch her, fill her, feeling herself envelop him and wrap him within her.

She gave a gasp as she came to rest, her buttocks brushing his thighs. She leant forward to kiss him, finding as she did so that the shift made his cock press against her in a new and particularly wonderful way. She let her lips linger on his, then kissed his cheek, then his ear, then whispered, “Oh gods, I think I could get to like being married to a scholarly man.”

He held her hips firmly, but slid his right hand slightly so that his thumb reached the hidden folds at the top of her thighs. “And now it's your turn to become my teacher. Tell me how you like to be touched, how you would touch yourself...” And he began to circle his thumb, gently, but with a firm, insistent touch.

She rocked forward until her lips touched his ear, feeling her nipples brush against his chest. “Get your fingers wet so they slide easily...” Faramir waited for her to lift herself up again, then ran his thumb and fingers round the head of his cock, where it nestled in in the slick moisture round her opening. Then he brought it back to search out… _her pearl, her beautiful, wonderful pearl_ ; his thoughts supplied the words. She sank back down, and he set about stroking her in languorous, sensual motions.

“Faster,” she said, and he wasn't sure whether she meant his thumb or his thrusts, so duly obliged by speeding up both. This time they found a rhythm, their movements matching, getting faster and faster. Her breath came in gasps in time with his thrusts. Her grey-blue eyes were almost dark with desire, a sheen of sweat on her brow, her lips parted. She gazed at him, face rapt. Then she shut her eyes, face screwed up, mouth open.

“Oh gods yes, oh… OH!” And she clutched at his biceps and leaned forward. Faramir felt muscles deep within her gripping at his cock. But unlike his earlier frenetic, sharp release, hers came as a series of rolling waves, three seemingly huge ones flooding over her, then a succession of smaller ones. She was still gasping for breath, now making little mewling noises, when he came for the second time, a crashing, overwhelming rush and dazzling set of white flashes behind his now closed eyelids. As his release juddered to a halt, he realised that Éowyn had now pitched forwards onto his chest and lay utterly limp on top of him.

For quite some time they lay, unable to talk. Faramir felt as though he was sinking into the mattress in utter bliss, and Éowyn, on top of him, seemed to have lost every bone in her body and simply flowed over him like warm liquid. Eventually, it was Éowyn who spoke.

“Not bad for a couple of beginners.”

~o~O~o~

Lunch came and went. Hilde and Elfhelm watched with amusement as Éomer seemed to become increasingly preoccupied and fretful. The post-wedding festivities included an impromptu afternoon tourney, and they watched as Éomer took out his worries on a succession of young riders. Eventually, as dusk drew round Edoras and the lights in the hall were lit in preparation for supper, Éomer was reduced to pacing up and down in front ot the dais.

“Anyone would think no couple had ever been bedded for the first time before,” said Hilde, not even trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice. The words were hardly out of her mouth when, from the side door which led to Éowyn's chambers, the bride and groom finally emerged to rejoin the celebrating throng.

They held hands, gazing at each other with shining, happy faces. Then (seemingly not even noticing that he had done it, nor that he had done it in front of the whole company), Faramir absent mindedly patted Éowyn on the arse. She (equally oblivious to the throng) giggled, and leaned in to him, clinging to his shoulders and kissing him full on the lips. There was a self-assured wantonness about the kiss, on both their parts, which made Hilde feel as though she was transported back to her own teens. It wasn't until their embrace was greeted with cheers and whistles that the couple seemed finally to realise, blushing and smiling sheepishly, that there were other people in the hall.

“Well,” Elfhelm said, “I think we can safely say that everything appears to have worked just as it should do!”

“I don't think it was ever in any doubt, was it?” Hilde replied.

“Not if you had an ounce of sense. If, on the other hand, you were her brother or a Gondorian matron...”

**Author's Note:**

> Those of you who know my stuff will know I'm severly allergic to the Cartland-esque trope of blushing virgin ingénue ritually deflowered by the experienced, masterful man on her wedding night. However, if one is going to write a canonical wedding night, it struck me that given Tolkien's religious beliefs, it wasn't actually too much of a stretch to make them both virgins. And that's just potentially amusing, because the chances are, the couple will be inept if enthusiastic...


End file.
